


Sussurros

by KittyFartingBubbles



Category: GOT7
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Drama, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Not Really Character Death, Parallel Universes, Romance, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-20
Updated: 2016-04-20
Packaged: 2018-06-03 10:09:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6606868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KittyFartingBubbles/pseuds/KittyFartingBubbles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(...) Mark wanted to yell to him, you are not my Jackson. You smell different. You think too rationally. You don't laugh anymore, at least not like my Jackson. You are so completely different but so like him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sussurros

**Author's Note:**

> Sussurros means Whispers in Portuguese.

 

"Put that down, Jackson," Mark says with a long sigh. "Our dog does not need anymore snacks."

 

Mark resists the urge to sigh once again when Jackson throws him that pathetic dejected look, that most of the times gets him what he wants, and only jerks his head in a quick no motion.

 

"He talked to me yesterday and told me that you don't feed him enough."

 

Mark gives him another look, one that clearly says, _I don't even take you seriously anymore_ , and stalks away, they need some fruit anyway. He was looking at the bananas when he sees people hiding behind shelves, fear clear in their faces, and for a second Mark stays there, not moving a muscle, his mind trying to comprehend what was happening with the little information he has. 

 

"Empty the fucking register, now!" 

 

He swallows hard when he looks in the direction of the angry yells and sees a gun being waved to the nice girl behind the counter. She trembles her way to the bag that was shoved on her hands, shaking so hard that some money falls onto the ground. 

 

"Leave it." A second voice growls, raising the gun higher, and what scares Mark the most was that face. The cold eyes shining with fun, the smirk playing on the lips and he knows in that moment that those man could care less with them. They came here for the money and they would not leave until they got what they want.

 

"Put the fucking money in the bag, or do you want someone to die?" 

 

"Calm down, she is doing her best." 

 

A rough voice joins the other two that already spoke and Mark can understand now when people say they have their heart on their throat. Because this could not be true, Mark had left Jackson buying some snacks for their dog and now he was in danger. He hears a whimper in the air, so full of pain and heartache that he momentarily feels the need to hug the one who left it out, to wrap that person in a blanket of security, to protect it from any harm that could come their way. He feels dumb when he can taste the tears on his mouth and finally he sees the light, he was the one who let out such a horrid sound, because his other half was currently in the middle of a fucking robbery, trying to be the hero.

 

"Who called the police? You've done it now," Mark was running even before those vile words leaves the assailant mouth, he was running, hand stretched out to try and see if he can reach the scene quicker. 

 

_Why do people even do that?_

 

He was close enough to see the look on Jackson's face, the raw and intense fear that Mark can almost taste it on his tongue, the kind that would leave such a wretched aftertaste, making him puke several times. A small and heavy ' _Jackson_ ' runs out of before he can control himself and when they lock eyes, he can read the  _I am sorry_ in Jackson's face. 

 

He also sees the smirk of the guy with the gun. 

 

He too hears the eerie sound of the gun safety being unlock.

 

The loud bang echoes around his head for the longest time, and Mark goes to sleep with it. 

 

.

.

 

Mark had no clue as to where he was at the moment, but he knew that he wasn't where he had been just mere hours ago. The last thing he remembers was shopping, Jackson trying to fatten their dog, and Mark looking around for some fruit. It was absolutely freezing, but that was wrongs, _its Summer_.

 

Jackson. 

 

Jackson wasn't here and he panics for a moment, Mark was so afraid of opening his eyes and see where he was. He could feel the gelid wind on his hair, frigid and cold. If he took a deep breath, the smell of salt would fill his nose, making it burn for a few seconds until he got used to it. Mark could hear soft mumbles around him, and how pathetic must he look like, in the middle of some street, with his eyes clenched so tight, they were starting to hurt. Or maybe that was just him trying not to cry.

 

With a dreadful deep breath, Mark opens his eyes and dropped his jaw. It was snowing. He was on the cold, dirty snow in the middle of the street, shivering in his t-shirt. Moreover, the other people in the street were wearing thick winter coats, and the buildings around had been decorated with Christmas ornaments.

 

_What the.._. 

 

The street looked the same, there were no differences besides the ornaments, at least not ones he could see with a brief look. Quivering with cold, _and something else_ , Mark wanted to go see Jackson. To see if he could shake the heavy weight on his shoulders and the sick feeling on his stomach. To see if all that had happen was merely a very bad dream, something that his head feel the need to create.

 

He runs all the way home, barely giving a second glance at the things around him, only worrying to got home the quickest he can.  _Mark really needs to know_ . By the time he was by the door, Mark can almost hear the whisper of Jackson's voice, softly calling out at him, he blinks dumbly when he understands that he was actually hearing it.

 

"I left it open because I knew you would forget your key!" 

 

Mark was so ecstatic that he fails to note the tired edge on that voice, the way the words slur around each other. After all it was all some sick joke that his brain made him believe it was true. He wasn't shopping with Jackson earlier, Jackson was right here, smiling at him from the couch. 

 

"Hey, can you get me a glass of water, please?" Jackson requests, looking at Mark with a smile.

 

"Sure, no problem." He replied. He opens the cabinet looking for a glass and frowns, when there were plates in there instead, he shrugs it when on his second try he founds what he was looking for.

 

"Where did you put my meds?"

 

Mark does a double take on that, the glass on his hand trembles and water spills onto the cream carpet. 

 

_Since when did they had a carpet?_

.

 

_"_ Can you get me some chocolate?" Jackson asks, with that look on his face.

 

Mark tosses a chocolate bar at Jackson, who was to slow to catch it and it hits him square in the forehead. Mark would laugh it off if it was before,  _his life before_ , but there were days where Jackson struggle to even climb the damn stairs, mornings were it would take him more time then the necessary for a healthy person to leave the bed. So, Mark gives Jackson a smile, one of those that he deemed special, all the time his heart crying out furiously.

 

"Mark, I don't like this kind." Jackson stated. "Get me a different one."

 

"Alright." He made his way once again to the large basket full of chocolate that Jackson's friends brought him,  _friends that Mark never knew before, who the hell was Jaebum anyway;_ and simply takes the whole basket with him to the living room. He gazes at Jackson, wondering about his old life, his friends, family, _his Jackson_ . Most of the times his vivid imagination offered him several horrible theories about what might had happened to the others, making him berate himself,  _they were fine_ .  _They can't have vanished, or died, whatever happened it was to him alone, and not to them_ . They are safe, and Mark his just lost, until he gets a way to fix it. 

 

"I don't really want chocolate anymore." Jackson stated. Mark gave a small, irritated noise and just as he sat back on the couch, Jackson began talking. "I want an apple. Could you go get me one?

 

"No! Just because you are cute doesn't mean that I will do everything you want! Besides, walking is good for yo-"

 

"Oh...so I'm cute?" Came the comment that cut through Mark's words.

 

"You know what I mean." Now he was embarrassed, his cheek most likely tinted in a healthy rose.

 

"No I don't." Jackson kept going, his finger touching Mark's cheek lightly. "Enlighten me" he practically purred in the Mark's ear.

 

.

 

Mark hadn't even noticed when Jackson rose from bed, usually when Mark woke up, he was snuggled right next to Jackson. So when he was awaken by the smell of food, he rubbed his eyes and yawned, "What's all this?"

 

He sat up against the headboard as Jackson advanced towards the bed with a food filled tray. He put it down in the middle of the bed and leaned in to kiss him good morning.

 

"Breakfast. Your stomach growled all night. Hardly slept with all that rumbling."

 

Mark scowled at that, and Jackson was quick to talk. "I feel fine this morning, better than in a very long time." 

 

The translation was something like this; _no need to worry with me, I can still carry a fucking tray of food to bed, after climbing a bunch of stairs, see I did not even spill anything._

 

Mark laughed as Jackson settled comfortably beside him on bed. This felt so much like the Jackson he knew that Mark let himself dream for the time being.

.

"Is that it?' Mark asked smoothly, his words heavy with irony. "I wonder why you went to so much trouble."

 

"Because you would had bitch if I didn't," Jackson let out with a Cheshire cat grin.

 

"Oh, I'm not the _bitch_ in this relationship, dear." The words carried the faintest rumble of a growl, and Jackson found himself quirking an eyebrow, knowing that Mark couldn't had intended that to sound as sexy as it had. He opened his mouth to give a naughty retort, but his words died as his chest convulsed painfully. He clapped a hand over his mouth has his throat burned with the pain.

 

_Shit._

 

He did not notice Mark crouch at his side and jumped when his wrist was snatched into a tight grip. Crimson specks of blood stained his palm. Mark froze, his brows drawing down into a frown as he stared. Jackson tried to pull his hand away, grimacing as Mark's fingers tightened around his flesh, his eyes had darkened with doubt, but as he stared wordlessly into Mark's face Jackson realized that there was something else there, something he had never seen in those eyes before.   
  


_Fear_.

 

Mark thought he would never live this kind of dread over again. It was only there, watching Jackson's bloody hand, that he realized how scared he was of what would come. "What the hell is this?' he demanded, forcing the words past his lips. When Jackson looked him in the eye, Mark swallowed tightly, struggling to choke back angry, frightened words. He wanted it to be a joke,  _that was all he wanted lately_ ...   
  


"How long has this been happening?" His voice was a hoarse whisper, forceful despite its low volume. His fingers tightened, and he shook Jackson in emphasis.   
  


"Mark,"  _no_ .  _Not again_ . Mark was happier, he had finally embraced this shitty reality as his own and now this happens. He knew Jackson was sick, but this was different, this was Jackson slipping through his fingers all over again, and Mark could do nothing about it, other then watch it. His  reverie was disrupted by Jackson's next words. 

 

"I'm sorry."

 

The apology took Mark by surprise, but he couldn't find his voice to answer it, so he let himself fall and Jackson caught him in his  _ weak _ embrace.

.

 

"Not fair!" Mark whined in a petulant tone, making Jackson smirk. "You always do that expression when your eyes look like... the nose... and your lips, you know." he managed to confuse even himself with his incomprehensible sentence.

 

"Don't worry, you are cute too." Jackson stated with a tone that obviously told him he meant it.

 

"What?!" Mark exclaimed in astonishment. "But I don't want to be cute."

 

"But you are." Jackson said with a smile, completely dismissing the others protests.

.

 

Mark bolted up, breath ragged and sweaty sheets clinging to his body, he was dreaming, again, jumbled memories and thoughts that made him ask if the life he was living was real, if it truly belong to him, or to another Mark. 

 

The tender susurration of ' _ Mark _ ' echoing around in his head was enough to wake him up, to make him longing for what he used to had. Sometimes it was hard to grasp and he forgot that this was not his reality, but Mark had made it his, without a glance back, he took the opportunity to a second chance,  _ or did he not _ ? 

 

Mark did not know what to think anymore.

 

The pressure behind his eyes was too much, he could feel the way his throat was clogging up, making it hard to breath and swallow, Jackson soft touch was on his shoulder not even a second later, and Mark wanted to yell to him;  _ you are not my Jackson. You smell different _ .  _ You think too rationally. You don't laugh anymore, at least not like my Jackson. You are so completely different but so like him. _

 

It took Mark almost thirty minutes to get his breathing pattern back to normal and stop the tears but it did happen. It left him tired and with burning eyes.

 

"Thanks", he said quietly.

 

Jackson pulled his hand back but didn't move anything else. "No problem. I know that I didn't help much."

 

"There's not much you can do," Mark replied.

 

"Yeah ... I know."

 

_ Do you? _ Do you really know what this was all about, Jackson?  _ Do you? _

 

He rolled over and ducked his head, tucking it under Jackson's chin and wrapping an arm around Jackson who responded with putting his arms around him and cuddling close before pressing a kiss into his hair.

 

"Thanks", Mark repeated.

 

Jackson responded with a squeeze.

 

.

 

When Mark got home after work he saw Jackson lying in the couch, on his stomach, and as he approached him he couldn't help but feel in his gut that something was very wrong.

 

"Hey, Jackson you alright?" Mark asked cautiously unable to stop staring the still unmoving figure in front of him. He got no response so he decided to attempt to rouse Jackson, in order to hopefully had him to tell Mark that he was just being stupid and that he had just been sleeping, but even after he shook the Jackson's shoulder he still didn't stir. 

 

"Jackson?" Mark said concern becoming more prominent in his voice every second. He gently rolled Jackson over so that he could see his face and got worried at how pale he was, with the exception of his cheeks which were practically flaming red. Mark first put his cheek down near Jackson's mouth to make sure that he was still breathing and to his relief he was. It was slightly labored, but the important thing was that he was at least breathing.

 

After that everything passed quickly, almost like Mark was watching the scene in fast forward, he felt so useless, because Jackson was sick, too sick and Mark thought that they would be together for a very long time, but Jackson was plugged in too many wires and IV's. Even the ' _ Don't worry kid he is going to be on his feet in no time _ ' that one of nurses said while looking him in the eye was forgotten when Jackson let out a fearful moan, the mask that was placed on his face feeding him oxygen fogging with his labored breathing.

 

Mark sees the concern gazes of those treating Jackson. 

 

He hears the gut wrenching whimpers that Jackson was letting out.

 

He also hears the loud beeping of the machines that echoed around his head for the longest time, and Mark goes to sleep with it. 

 

.

.

 

Mark had a restless night. Tossing, turning, struggling against no one but the blankets. While everything around him was quiet and everyone outside were either still asleep or just beginning their day, Mark couldn't enjoy those calm moments that separate the night and the day. One moment he was in his bed, asleep. The next he wakes up panting, his body shaking from the force of the nightmare he had just had.  _ Was it really a nightmare _ ?

 

His mind was almost completely blank, he decided to go take a walk to clear his mind, it always used to work for him in the  _ past _ . Without even waiting for his body to calm down, he got up from the bed. From then on, everything he did until he got out of the house was hurried. Washing his face, throwing some random clothes on and putting on the first pair of shoes he saw. 

 

Soon enough he was out of the house, pacing slowly in the night's cool weather. At first, he was walking randomly, he had no idea where he was going, he became so frustrated when he couldn't erase the thoughts off his head. It was too frustrating to feel the storm raging in his head while he looked around and saw everything moving, people walking to their planned locations while he didn't even know where he was heading. Or where he was. It was like he had nothing. It felt so empty inside him even though his mind was full of thoughts and memories.

 

He was running now, without direction, running away from the new ordinary reality around him, form the cruel joke that his life had turned out to be, what had he done to suffer so much? He ran and ran for long minutes until he finally got to the seashore, and he just stood there, he couldn't bear to look away from the horizon, not until he was sure that this was not a dream. Even if it was a dream, did he and Jackson still look at the same sky? Did they share the same sun and the beautiful twinkling stars? Or was that too much to ask for?

 

It was almost as if it was comforting him. The calm waves whispering to settle his crying spirit, the cool wind that touched his face and surrounded him completely, the sunlight that illuminated his tired eyes. He didn't know what time it had been when he left his house. Was it really his, the house? He didn't even know if he had a place where to head to. He only knew one thing. He knew that he had tried to keep going or his thoughts would eat him from inside out. He also knew that he was tired and sick of it, the not knowing what was happening was enough to make him afraid. _Of living, of enjoying_ , because what would come next?

 

By now, the sun had already risen, it was not night anymore, it was not a dream anymore. He was somewhere else again, a place that was not his, he wasn't home, this was not his present, but Mark had to embrace it like it was. Mark buried his face inside his hands. His mind was still clouding with the _memories_ he had stored in his mind. _Things that happened yesterday to him, felt like it was years ago_. 

 

Maybe this time, he was home, he was safe, he was free, he wouldn't got hurt again and he wasn't alone.

 

He turned his back to the sea, and made his way back  _ home _ . What was most unnerving was that this place was still how he remembered back in his  _ first _ life. Small little things were different, small, but sufficiently important to know that there was a point at which everything was not the same. 

 

Things out of place, items missing or stuff he hadn't purchased, his car color was another, there was no dog or any trace of any animal ever living there with him and Jackson. Their rented home was still the same and it smell like home to him, with something else in the mixture he could not put his finger on it. Jackson though, that was the biggest difference, but the only thing that he could be thankful and hope to be a invariablein his life. Halfway on his way back, he was stopped in the middle of a street by a demanding voice coming from his left.

 

"Mark! You said we would spend the night at my place yesterday!" the forceful voice called, startling some of the people who walked down the street into a stop to look around in caution. He, himself had turned around in his curiosity to see... Jackson. "To think I fell asleep on the couch waiting for you to come. That was really mean."

 

Mark could not find it in himself to talk at that moment, the only thoughts that seemed capable to survive his chaos of a mind at the moment, were thoughts about just how could his lover still be able to pout in such a convincing and adorable way, even though this was what? Another reality?

 

"Is there something wrong?" Now, Mark could tell that Jackson was slightly concerned.

 

"Are you blonde?" It felt really awkward all of a sudden, how was he supposed to act around  _ this _ Jackson? His eyes strayed to the side, focusing on a random part of the pavement. 

 

"Are you coming down with something? We dyed it together." 

 

Mark's nerves were screaming at him to be alarmed as he could feel stares, and, truthfully, when he looked around he saw that they were practically surrounded by observing bystanders. Not liking the idea a conversation of his would be eavesdropped on he whispered, "Come on, let's go home, it's a lot more private than here." He murmured, blushing slightly as he caught sight of Jackson's energetic face. He was not used to see such a healthy Jackson, and that scared him a bit. 

 

It leave a sudden acrid taste lingering around, concerning him of what was going to happen this time?

 

.

 

Smiling slyly to himself, Jackson slowly stalked to Mark's location with absolute silence in a matter of only a few seconds. He was satisfied to hear the surprised yelp the other let out. A head was pressing between Mark's shoulder blades, pushing against him gently and steady.

 

His right arm left the vegetables alone for a second as it grasped one of the hands that surrounded him. He brought it up, gently, to his lips and pressed one, loving kiss to it, extremely content at the shiver he felt coming from Jackson, he nuzzled the hand with a happy smile on his face. 

 

How he loved these quiet moments. It had always been those moments especially that he could really concentrate on all of his feelings and sensations. The moments that needed no words, just as there would be no words to describe them. Turning around carefully in the embrace to lean down and kiss his boyfriend softly, Mark felt more grateful for what he had in his arms than he ever had. 

 

_ Did he, really _ ?

 

"Breakfast is almost ready, just a few more minutes." he said after a minute of savoring the moment. Reluctantly letting go and backing from the embrace, Mark turned back to the food, fighting against his memories.

 

.

 

One casual morning, two best friends, who so happen to be lovers, were lying peacefully on the grass in a certain random park. They had nothing in particular to do, so they took the afternoon to relax for the first time in a long period of time. Moments like these were precious and few, and Mark wished he could lock it somewhere so that he never forgot them.

 

"A cat, definitely a cat." Jackson determined in a confidence voice.

 

"What? Where?" Mark asked while he moved his head from side to side in effort to catch the small animal.

 

"Over there, you have to be blind to miss it." Jackson said, pointing to cloud on the sky.

 

After a few moments of looking at it, Mark give his opinion. "It looks like a rabbit to me."

 

"Of course it does." Jackson agreed, too quietly to be truth. Then he continued with an annoyed tone, "It took you so long to see something so obvious that by the time you looked at it it had already lost it's shape!" at that point he was gesturing wildly towards the cloud.

 

The reason Jackson offered somewhat made Mark laugh loudly, Jackson's cheeks turning red and he defiantly turned his head to the sky once again. His hands were strongly crossed over his chest and his eyes were closed as if nothing could make them open ever again.

 

Mark didn't had any idea of when he stopped looking at the sky, and he probably didn't really care much for it as well. That was because instead of watching the sky, he was looking at the one thing that would forever catch more of his attention than anything else in the entire world. His lover. 

 

And once said lover opens his eyes and looks around after feeling eyes watching him, his eyes immediately fall upon Mark's dark ones and lock onto them. The realization hits him and his curiosity rises to the point when he asks.

 

"What?" he raised a questioning eyebrow. "Is there something wrong?"

 

Mark does not know anymore,  _ was this forever _ ?

 

.

 

_'Mark...'_

 

"Huh?" He mumbled out, looking around the room with half lidded eyes, hearing the tell tale noises of Jackson getting home from work. He entered the kitchen to see Jackson muttering unintelligible words at the fridge. "Your dinner's in the oven," he drawled, causing the other to jump. 

 

Jackson straightened, rubbing the back of his head and turned to grin sheepishly at his boyfriend. "Hey, I thought you would have been sleeping by now."

 

Mark rolled his eyes and went to remove Jackson's dinner from the oven. "With all the noise you were making? I'd have to be deaf to sleep through that."

 

"Sorry,"   
  


"Do you want me to warm this up for you? It's gotten kind of cold."   
  


Jackson glanced at the plate in Mark's hands. "Nah, that's alright. Do we have any canned tuna?"

 

Mark raised an eyebrow. "Okay, is that your way of saying that my cooking sucks?."

 

"No, I love whatever you cook, you know that-"

 

"So why do you want tuna? And why were you so late tonight?" Mark drilled, making Jackson squirm.

 

"I ... um got held up at the office."

 

"For five hours?" He continued, not amused. Mark was cut off by a soft meow from Jackson's jacket. It was only then that he noticed how weirdly his boyfriend was standing. He was hunched over with an arm wrapped around his waist under his jacket. Mark froze with his mouth agape and eyebrows raised. Jackson coughed loudly as if to drown out the meowing.

 

"Your jacket just meowed. Why is your jacket meowing, Jackson?"

 

.

 

Whenever Jackson left his side for a few hours, there was this sharp and intense pain on his heart, a sensation of something like loss twinging in Mark's gut as Jackson turned and walked away from him, leaving Mark looking at his departing back. He could swear that the feeling only intensified as the distance between him and Jackson grew.   
  


Part of Mark fought with the dramatic desperation to turn around and dash back to Jackson's side, but he stifled it ruthlessly every time. He knew it was a reaction to his other  _ lives _ , but it still felt like he was being ridiculous, specially when he could hardly remember them anymore, they were like a fogged dream, always there in the back of his mind but hard to remember with the time passing. Pursing his lips, Mark frowned to himself, realizing that his own mind was betraying him. He was starting to think of  _ this _ Jackson, like he was  _ his _ Jackson. It was getting harder and harder to differentiate memories, smells, touches, for Mark, those were starting to feel the same, a _ ll his lives were a disorderly mess of the same _ . 

 

Once, he stood on the sidelines, trying to live but always thinking of what he had lost, how it was so distant. But he was right  _ here _ now,  _ this  _ Jackson was burning his way into Mark's every thought and decision as if he were the most important thing in the world. Mark could not help but wonder when it had stopped feeling like an intrusion and started to feel right.   
  


"You're going to give yourself wrinkles again if you keep scowling like that," Jackson said mildly, stifling a yawn behind his hand, after dumping the tray containing their food onto the table. "You all right?"

 

Mark nodded, glancing at Jackson with a smirk, "Just trying to deal with the fact that your ugly mug is the first thing I see every morning."

 

That left Jackson spurting nonsense for the entirety of their breakfast, some people looking at them from time to time, watching them with something akin to pity, as if knowing that Mark did not belonged here. He may be here for a long time, but there was always something.

 

"Jackson." He said quietly, eyes fixed on Jackson blonde locks.

 

"Hm... yeah, babe?" He replied, cleaning his mouth on a napkin.

 

"I love you." All action ceased for a moment, Jackson swallowing hard, hand caressing Mark's cheek.

 

"I know. And I also know that I would have been lost without you."

 

The pure confession came from nowhere just as it came from everywhere. It was known fact, that held so much besides the obvious meaning, but was still told, whether from a compulsive need or a random thought, Mark did not know. Jackson's word meant everything, it was something that Mark was going to keep with him forever.

 

With nothing stopping him, Mark rose from his chair, body leaning over the table, his arms circling around his boyfriend neck and held him tight, it was his answer to the previous statement. "I don't want you to ever let me go." Mark didn't know what made him say it. It just naturally came out.

 

"Don't worry, because I already plan to spend the rest of my life with you." said Jackson.

 

.

 

Jackson grinned at him, dropping the ball to the ground, toed it onto his foot and flung it into the air, passing it to his knee, always smirking at Mark. "Catch."

 

He flicked the ball out to him and Mark caught it with his hands just in time, receiving a incredulous look from Jackson.   
  


"Use your feet," Jackson said with a crooked smile.   
  


"Fine. But prepare to have your ass handed to you," he said as he shrugged off his jacket, tossing it to the ground. He let the ball fall back to the ground, leaned over slightly, getting ready to kick the damn thing at Jackson. 

 

"I am not getting younger in here." 

 

Mark adjusted the ball in front of him with his foot, just for good measure.   
  


Jackson sighed. "Just kick the ball, babe."

 

After half an hour of running around, Mark stopped, bent over and placed his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath. Deciding he needed a rest, he flopped back on the damp grass, staring up at the bright sky, ball still on his hand.

 

Jackson jogged over and leaned above him, his brows raised and a sly smile on his face. "You are giving up already?"

 

Mark shook his head, breathing still ragged. "No way. I just need a small break," he trowed the ball to Jackson, who watched it roll with a very large sigh. Mark gave him a look and Jackson flipped him off, going after the ball.

 

Just like in the movies, in slow motion, _ maybe the time did stop for a short while _ , in a blink of an eye, a car barreled towards Jackson, who barely had time to register what was happening, his body hitting the windshield, with a ill crunch, destroying it in the process. Jackson's limp body lay in the pavement, in a mess of blood and body fluids, his eyes no longer shinning, mouth stuck in a ugly scream. Mark was alone once again, his ' _ Please don't go _ ', stirring the air, leaving a trail of something bitter and desperate, thick with fear that made his skin crawl, but it was useless.

 

Mark was still laying in the grass, looking at the ball that was in the other side of the street.

 

He hears the yells of the one that was driving the car. 

 

The loud bang of Jackson body hitting the car echoes around his head for the longest time, and Mark goes to sleep with it. 

.

.

 

He was on the floor, head pillowed on his arm, hugging a  _ small _ green shirt to his chest. It was wrinkled, color washing away, maybe from to many washes, or just from use. Mark did not know why, but whenever he looked at the tiny piece of cloth, something chocked in his throat, a tight, sharp thing torn between grieve and anger. He rubbed his other hand over his face,  _ why was he crying _ ? Also, where was he?

 

Looking around he did not recognized the place, this was not the house he used to share with Jackson,  _ with any of his Jackson's. _ This house was cold, so icy and sad, just by being inside of it Mark felt awful, like he was missing something so precious and cherished, that forgetting,  _ or never knowing of its existence _ , was close to blasphemy. The walls of the house were white, the floor was a bleached gray, like everything in this damn place, this felt so  _ wrong _ . 

 

He folded the shirt and, softly, with so much care, put it on the couch. He swallowed hard, why was he acting this way? He knew nothing of the life of this Mark, but still that damn nagging on his head was enough to make him cringe. He frowned when looking around the place, he found a bunch of photos, some framed, some not, tucked inside a cupboard, in a dark corner. 

 

He only saw that he was crying again, when it dripped onto the picture he was looking so intently at. It showed Mark and Jackson. But that was not all of it, in between them, holding their hands, was a little girl, hair up in a bun, smile from an ear to another. Mark went trough all the photos, stopping at a messy draw, with scrawls of what could be his and Jackson's name, followed by a  _ I love you daddies _ . That did it for him, a second later he was a crying mess, because he was not that little girl daddy, he did not even know her name. He was a  _ thief _ , yes he was. This Mark had a family, he was happy and he stole that away from him, taking his place in this world.

 

So why was this house so dark and pitiful? Where were the laughs and cries of the child? Where was his loud and all over-the-place, lover?  _ Why was he alone once again _ ?

 

Mark opened every door, every wardrobe, he looked under the couch, behind the doors, under the bed, but there was no sign of a little girl every living in the house. There was only two bedrooms, one was his, and the other seemed to be a guest room. His fridge was full of food, but barely any milk and vegetables, no juice too. No snacks, no toys, nothing, just a bunch of photos hidden away from prying eyes. 

 

He did found Jackson's number on his cell phone, he was going to text him, but instead of that, Mark decided to see if Jackson was still living in their house. He didn't change his clothes, he went out with, most likely,  _ the other Mark _ had used the day before, wrinkled from sleeping on them, passing a hand over his  _ red _ hair to tame it.

 

The wind was blowing hard, leaves and other junk flying in the pavement. Dark clouds were raising in the sky, the singing of the wind getting louder every other second. If not anything else, Mark would had thought that the wind was whispering to him, a soft ' _ babe' _ , in Jackson's husky morning voice.

 

He jumped over the steps at the front entrance and knocked at the door with all his might. Jackson was smiling when he opened the door, but when his gaze fell on him, Mark saw how the smile dropped, a curious expression on his face, which was also clouded with doubt and something else that he did not know what it was. What kind of private battles must Jackson be fighting to look like that? Only endless months of bearing burdens and pains left someone looking so defeated.

 

"Mark?" 

 

The hesitance in Jackson's word hit Mark right in the gut, since when was Jackson so small and insecure. Instead of giving a verbal answer, Mark reached a hand to Jackson, who looked at him as if asking permission, and was gently brought inside their house. Once inside, Mark could not stop himself from looking around, all the while waiting from a childish yell of  _ daddy _ . That didn't happen, but Mark saw photos. Displayed all over the house, there was a wall covered in framed photos, a chubby baby with Mark, a new born with the both of them, a little girl, no more then seven, with a lettuce green balloon in her hand, pouting to the camera. 

 

Mark felt the a faint hand on his back, resting there, to give him some comfort, now if he knew  _ why _ he needed the comfort. Mark turned around, facing Jackson who took a small step back, like he was running away from him.  _ That hurt. _ Jackson must had saw it in his face, but he still turned away when Mark went for a kiss. 

 

"Jackson?" He let out a breathless whimper, and in return he received a glance so full of heartache, and  _ damn it _ , Mark was tearing up again, pure frustration and hurt flowing down from his eyes. He fought back a wave of nausea as his stomach rolled greasily. Mark wanted to beg but his voice was caught in his throat as he felt a warm hand on his right cheek, a thumb passed across the soft flesh and erased the tears that stained his face.

 

The thumb trailed down and ghosted over the slightly separated lips in a motion that took Mark's breath away. It finally stopped moving as it settled down to dwell across his jaw. The fingers, softly but effectively, coaxed Mark's head to look up, Jackson's lips on his were short and hesitant, but enough for Mark. At least for now.

 

.

 

A contented sigh escaped Mark's lips, he was contently nestled in Jackson's arms, who was simply glad by the presence of his husband. It had been so long since Jackson could hold Mark like this, having him with him, sharing a bed, or even a hug. After their little girl went missing, it was a rarity for them to be able to be in the same room without yells, blame and guilt.

 

Jackson understood though. He had been the one watching her, he was the one that let Amber be taken away from them, and it only seemed fair that Mark could no longer look at him without blaming him. It had been so hard, not just for him and Mark, but to their family and friends. Jackson though, he had to grief, at that time he  _ had _ to forget and what better way than to got drunk? Mark would come home and found Jackson passed out on the kitchen floor, cans of beer and bottles of liquor all around the house, and he had tried so hard. Jackson would be the first to vouch for his husband, Mark never give up on him, even after they decided to give some time in their relationship, he was always there, checking out on him, ordering food to his place, leaving small text messages. All of that just for Jackson not to forget, that Mark loved him with every atom that created his being.

 

Sometimes, out of the blue, Jackson would remember their passion and love for each other. It didn't die, it just became painful because of everything they had lost. That was what it gave him strength to let go of the drinking, and bit by bit, he was himself again. Not completely,  _ no _ , that was impossible, but he was getting better and even if Jackson was so glad to had Mark here with him,  _ it was still so surreal _ , he did not know what to do of this. Where they going to had a second chance? To try and build their lives out of everything they lost, or would they fail again, falling deeper into the darkness?

 

Adjusting himself slightly on the mattress and allowing Mark to snuggle closer to him, Jackson brought his free hand to his lover face, brushing away strands of hair from his eyes. "I'm sorry." He said, hand stroking down Mark's cheek, silence was the only answer he received, managing only to increase the guilt that he not knew if he could survive.

 

.

 

With slow movements, Mark managed to got out of Jackson's arms without waking him up, he was restless, like usual whenever he woke in a new world, it would take days,  _ weeks _ , to treat this as his reality, to be able to fell asleep without the heavy whispers on his head, reminding him how he did not belong here.  _ Not at all _ . Making his away around their house, he found a door that he did not remember ever being there, he opened curiously. 

 

A little bed with a pink and green duvet was thrown over a disarray of blankets, telling him that the last time it was used, the bed was not made. A horde of plushies were all around the room, a mess of colors and toys scattered on the floor, dolls, puzzles, crayons, books,  _ tiny _ musical instruments. He lay on the bed, the sting on his eyes making a comeback **.** He was a dad, Mark had a child, he and Jackson had a little girl and the only thing that Mark knew about her was that her favorite color was  _ green _ . 

 

This room was a  _ relic _ , every single thing give the feeling of being left as it was when she disappeared. He could tell just by looking that things, while not covered in dust, were abandoned, it lacked the joy of a child around.  _ The other Mark _ could no longer take the pain and hurt of walking these wall without his baby girl and moved out, leaving Jackson behind, things between them must had been strained.

 

He caught something at the corner of his eye, a mountain of papers were on the desk. The thump thump of his heart went faster with every step he took closer,  _ warning _ him not to see what the papers were, every fiber of his being was alerting him that it was a bad idea, but Mark needed to know, he needed answers. The;  **have you seen this child** , followed by the photo of the little girl that Mark was already in love with, _ it took less than 24 hours for him to fall in love _ , made him gasp in shock.

 

This was wrong, so wrong, Mark could never be happy, there were always something in these wretched worlds to tear him apart, to enjoy his suffering. Basking in his agony and pain. He just needed a confirmation, but this was cruel. He heard Jackson's fast breathing behind him, their eyes meet, and something flickered in Jackson's eyes, Mark felt a tightness clench his chest painfully and before he could go to him, to hug him, to comfort him,  _ each other _ , Jackson was running away. 

 

When Mark emerged on the main streets the sun was starting to set, getting darker and darker with every passing minute. Breaking into a jog he rounded a corner, barely catching sight of Jackson's figure climbing a external fire escape. One drop of rain fall, then another. In seconds the roof to where he followed Jackson was slick with water, collecting puddles everywhere as he struggled to got to Jackson who was now peering too close to the edge of the building.

 

Mark stretches out a hand to try and see if he can reach Jackson and he was hit with a sense of déjà vu that make him wobble. It brings back a heavy nausea, followed by an echo of what sounded like a gunshot. "Jackson," Mark spats, his fingers locked around the Jackson's wrist with all his strength.   
  


"Why?" Jackson asked. His voice cracked by anger.

 

Mark choked, his mind going blank as he struggled for air. "Please come with me," he begs, ignoring Jackson's outburst. Jackson gives a few steps closer to the edge and Mark was obligated to slump against the feeble railing. It gave a fraction under his weight, the concrete near his foot flaking away as it groaned a warning, but Mark did not let go of his lover hand.

 

"I'm sorry," Jackson whispered, when without nothing more than a faint squeak of farewell, the fence gave way. Instinctively, Mark's hand clenched around Jackson harder, his shoulder screaming in pain with the double weight he was now carrying.   
  


"Don't let go," he hissed, grimacing at a sharp pain on his shoulder blade.   
  


"I need to" Jackson gasped. Mark's entire body felt like lead. Sick and sweaty, he tried to work out what was happening, to plot some kind of escape, but his brain was sluggish and thick. He forced his eyes open, looking down the length of his arm into Jackson's crying face. Mark knew before it happened how it was going to end. Perhaps the tormented face gave him a clue but, when Jackson let go of his hand, looking him in the eye, that was when Mark understood that  _ he _ was all Jackson had been hanging to.   
  


Taking a deep, shuddering breath, accompanied by some pained sobs,  _ his sobs, or Jackson sobs _ , there was a scrabble for grip, and then nothing. Jackson dropped like a stone and landed heavily. There was no blood, nothing gruesome except the odd twist of his body. He looked like a discarded doll that had just been chucked aside by a child. Mark blinked, knowing that if he did not do something he'd be just the same; broken body on desolate the ground and nothing could glue his pieces together again.

 

Mark decided then, a decision of a split of a second,  _ he did nothing _ .

 

He hears the warnings in his brain. 

 

The loud bang of Jackson body hitting the floor echoes around his head for the longest time, and Mark goes to sleep with it. 

 

.

.

 

_'Babe...'_

 

There was a stiff stench of alcohol and cigarette smoke all around him. He lay in a deserted alleyway behind his  _ old _ college dorm room, it seemed that a party was raving on inside. The multicolored lights and the pounding of music was a loud echo on his head, bit Mark ignored it all.

 

A small trickle of blood falls from his nose, onto his blue shirt, not that he cared, seeing the blood made him understand that he hurt, and if he hurt, he wasn't dreaming. Mark ached so much, all around, inside and out, but still he was glad, emotion was good, it meant alive.  _ Alone, but alive _ . Because he remembers now, Jackson _ was in the hospital, so very sick and everyone was reassuring him that his lover would be fine _ .  _ Jackson was hit by a car, the stupid ball that Mark throw was the reason why. Jackson let go of his hand, because he could no longer live without their daughter _ . But now here he was, alone in a fucking dark alley, not having a damn clue how he ended up in here, or for how long things would be so clear in his head.

 

_How? Why? Where?_

 

Mark was so tired, so he decided to sleep, or maybe just close his eyes and rest for some time. Pretending that everything was fine, and maybe he was dreaming and when he woke up, he would be next to Jackson, using his arm as a pillow. What now? This wasn't his home, he wasn't safe and protected, but somewhere else that made him miss the arms around him as he never had before. It took him about ten minutes of straying thoughts to become aware of the fact that he did not know what to do. This time he did not want to fight, he just wanted to be left alone. He had no more strength, he could not take another blow, he was debilitated and sick of this.

 

_ His butt was vibrating. _ Was Mark first thought as he woke from a light slumber, feeling cold and nauseated. 

 

"Yeah," he groaned to the phone that was on the back of his pocket pants.

 

" _ Where the hell are you, man _ ?" 

 

"Jinyoung?" Mark asked, his heart jumping around on his chest. When was the last time Mark had heard his friends voice?  _ Years _ .

 

" _ You missed first period. You! I know I asked for the room yesterday night, but no need to be so radical. Are you rebelling or what? _ "

 

"Or what," Mark said, barely chocking out the words. Jinyoung was  _ here _ , with him.

 

" _ Are you feeling fine?" _

 

"I am not sure, Jinyoung." His head was brimming with jabbering, shrieking uncertainty. There was so much he did not know, for the first time in his life, Mark felt like he was beaten before the battle had even begun.

 

.

 

"Mark, over here."

 

Mark turns around and sees Jinyoung sitting at a table, looking so  _ young _ . This was a crazy situation, Mark was back on college and was that Jackson sitting next to Jinyoung? Mark looks away when his  _ boyfriend _ glances at him, and he can feel his stare on him as he saunters over to sit next to Jinyoung, keeping his distance from Jackson afraid of what he could do, who patted his back in greeting.

 

"This is Jackson," Jinyoung introduces.

 

"I'm Mark," he says slowly, words leaving a sour tasted on his tongue, because this was Jackson and he should know who Mark was, there should not be any awkward first meeting, Jackson should know who he was. They should be kissing and hugging and being happy with each other.

 

"I know. Jinyoung was telling me all day about his cute and innocent roommate who probably slept on the street, just so he could bang his girlfriend," Jackson says back with a smirk. Mark's eyebrows shoot up.

 

 

"That I did, Jackson Wang, the annoying friend of Jinyoung's. He forgot to mention that you're also a dick," Mark retorts with a grin before taking a bite out of Jinyoung's sandwich. Mark looks up to see just a hint of a smile on Jackson's face. Jinyoung was flat out smiling like an idiot.

 

"I knew you two were going to get along," Jinyoung laughs.

 

.

 

Surely Jackson was too used to women practically throwing themselves at him. Mark used to think they were delusional, but now he knew differently. He had seen how everyone, male and female, flushed and stutter just because Jackson had smiled in their general direction. They melted to excited mumbles and words, if Jackson deigned to speak to them. 

 

Back in time, when Mark found himself discovering his feeling for Jackson, he thought it was because he was  _ Jackson Wang _ , mostly all talk and barely any action, but that wasn't it all. Jackson heard what people said, he did not just listen, he give to whoever was talking all his attention, even if not for long. Maybe Jackson had always done that, even when they were younger, but Mark had been to blind and young to notice it. Now, suddenly he found himself on the receiving end of all that attention, and it made him tremble and squirm, maybe even melt a little bit. 

 

He hoped that his  _ soon to be _ boyfriend somehow missed his strange behavior, the stumbling words, the blushes, the defensive answers. Mark was too old for this shit, he was now stuck on a seventeen year old body of  _ another _ Mark, and those damn hormones were driving him crazy. 

 

"... You remember how they told me I couldn't because of the collapse risk?"

 

Mark hummed, not trusting his voice to answer. It was almost ten in the night and Mark and Jackson were sitting comfortably on the bed in Jackson's room. Jinyoung had begged forever and Mark in the end just went with it and crashed at Jackson's. They already had dinner, cold pizza,  _ tasty _ and for the last two hours or so, the two boys had been talking about random things that came along once the conversation had begun. Actually Jackson talked and Mark would stutter a word from time to time.

 

He listened to the enthusiastic, exuberant, weird ramblings of Jackson. Those included suggestions, ideas and plans that might had, at some point, being considered illegal activities, but as he conveniently found out, he just didn't care. With a small, content and relieved smile gracing his lips, he nodded eagerly at Jackson, not even caring to what he was agreeing.

 

"I want to tie a dollar bill on a string , put it on the ground and pull it away when someone tries to pick it up."

 

_ In Pennsylvania that is against the law _ .

 

"Visiting the Catacombs."

 

_That is illegal?_

 

"Not the part open to public, Mark. Where is your sense of adventure?"

 

"I didn't say anything." He mumbled out quickly.

 

"You just give me the;  _ I don't even take you seriously anymore _ , look. Either way Catacombs it is!"

 

"Sure, I'll take my phone, that way I can ironically play Temple Run till the time of my death comes."

 

It was so easy to enjoy himself, being part of small discussions with Jackson, just doing nothing all day long, besides being with each other.

 

"What about having sex in the car while it's going through the car wash?"

 

"Do I look like Jinyoung to you?"

 

"Getting clean and dirty at the same time, if you catch my drift."

 

.

 

Mark glared at him, one eyebrow slightly raised in bare tolerance of his words. Since Jinyoung introduced him to Mark,  _ almost one year now _ , Jackson had seen many things in that gaze; anger, impatience, desperation, sometimes Mark would look at him with such hope, that he did not know what to do when that was replaced by anguish. Those emotions had become less prominent, they were half-hidden behind some kind of internal shield, as though Mark would not allow the true strength of his emotions to be known.

 

More and more, Jackson found himself wondering if he really knew his best friend at all, Jackson had the the distinct feeling that Mark presented the world with a mask, a fake appearance that told nothing of the reality behind his nature, it was like Mark was missing something or  _ someone _ very important to him.

 

Frankly, it was  _ infuriating _ . But Jackson took it with his head up, making his best to make the older laugh, smile, or even talk more than half a dozen of words in a sentence. Jackson could say he was used to it, but it was a lie, he simply took it as Mark being not ready to confide in him. 

 

Some forced smiles and a few sentences later, Mark raised his hand to stop Jackson from continuing his persuading. "Stop." he said as the other stopped and looked at him. "Whatever you're trying, just stop it. You don't need to cheer me up."

 

Jackson wouldn't had it, he stood in front of Mark and took a quick step forward and the other, in response, took a quick step back. Jackson moved forward again, and again Mark stumbled backwards. That was, until his knees hit the side of the couch and buckled slightly. A gentle shove from Jackson was enough to make him sit down on the couch.

 

Jackson was now looking at him from above with nothing but truth in his eyes and Mark couldn't bear to witness it so he turned his head to the side and closed his eyes. "You are hurt, and you might not notice it, but now you are crying and it hurts even more that you try to hide it from me." Mark lifted a hand to his own face and passed his thumb across his cheek. He really was crying. "I know that you are suffering, yet you still try to act as if nothing is wrong." Jackson finished.

 

Jackson laid his palm on the Mark's thigh and with his other hand wiped the tears that fell down during his speech. He knew that now he definitely got to the other boy.

 

"Let me help you."

 

He only got a short, hesitant nod in return, but it was enough. It was a start. 

 

.

 

Jackson grinned. "Alright. Here, hold out your arms. I'll carry you."

 

"Of course not!" Mark yelled, recoiling. "I'm not a girl!"

 

"But you're _hurt_ ," Jackson smirked, dropping one hand to his back. "What kind of best friend would I be if I let you limp around?"   
  


"One that understands masculine pride," Mark muttered. "Thanks, but I'll crawl."

 

"Mule-headed," Jackson murmured.

 

"Moron." Mark hissed, a fighting off a smirk.

 

"Dumbass!"   
  


"Jack- _ass_."   
  


In an instant, Jackson trowed himself at Mark who whips his elbow at Jackson's middle and smirks in victory at the grunt he hears in return. That is before he realizes that Jackson is flat-out pressed against him,  _it feels so good, like home_ . Mark turns to Jackson, his lips pressing against each other in a quick motion, barely touching. Jackson staggers back and for a moment, they stare at each other for what feels like a month. Jackson is frozen in his own state of shock, a peculiar expression and a darker tint to his face.

 

" Mark," he whispered, shaking his head.

 

Mark stood there, feeling small, knowing, once again, what was going to come, because this was not  _his_ Jackson.  _This Jackson_ only saw him as a friend,  _a best friend_ , but still just a friend. But Mark could swear than there was something else there, that loving gaze focused so much on him, always taking care of Mark, worrying about him, laughing with him. 

 

_'Hey.'_

 

"You are scared!" He accused. "You know that I love you and you are scared, nothing else." Mark pressed, a hand running through his untamed hair.   
  


"Mark. I'm sorry, I don't feel the same. Yes, I do love you, but it's a best friend love, not a romantic one." He mumbled, an unhappy expression on his face. 

 

_Mark hears voices but its hard to understand what was said. There are blurred images of faces peering down at him, but the darkness comes again._

 

"I don't know what made me do that. I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking." Mark was trying to avoid going into a panic attack at the thought of losing Jackson. "If you didn't want to hurt me, then I understand." Mark started, forcing a smile onto his face. "But please just..." 

 

_Consciousness fades in and out. He can’t tell if he was dreaming or not._

 

"Are you okay?" Jackson is looking at him worried, and Mark was having difficulty concentrating. What just happened? 

 

_Gradually things become clearer and he is a little bit more aware during those periods of consciousness. Mark is in a hospital bed. He sees a nurse coming in that tries to talk to him. He knows without a doubt that it is Jaebum. That is Jackson's friend, what is he doing here. Where is here anyway..._

 

"Take a seat, you are as pale as a ghost." Jackson was pushing him down to a chair, a glass of water in his other hand, that is slightly trembling. "What is going on?"

 

Mark takes a big gulp, water running down his chin onto his neck, wetting his shirt. "I don't know, I just... feel weird I guess."

 

_There was a commotion. He hears someone say he’s awake and then others came running in. Someone is asking him if he knows his name_ . 

 

_He tries to answer, the voice he hears is scratchy and tired. It added to his confusion as he wondered whose voice it was._

 

_He was left alone and laid there trying to comprehend what was going on. Why was he in the hospital? How did he get here? What was wrong with him? Where was Jackson?_

 

_Some of his memories are returning, it was easier to remember now even if they are a confusion of bits and pieces that he could barely put together. He could not remember his cell phone number but he knew his home address._

 

_He asks for Jackson when a nurse comes to check on him and she smiles, telling him that he will come in no time, he went home right before he woke. Mark tries to wait for him, he really tries, but he is so tired, his eyes burn, his head aches, he can barely keep is head up, and he certainly does not remember falling asleep._

 

_The next time he opens his eyes, Jackson is staring at Mark, not moving a centimeter, his eyes widen and something clenched hard in Mark's chest as Jackson discarded the papers he was reading and is right by his side. Mark fisted his hand in Jackson's jacket, words caught in his throat, too torn between terror of this being a dream and of Jackson's seeping between his fingers. All he could do was nudge his forehead hard into Jackson's shoulder, a wordless demand for reassurance._   
  


_Immediately, Jackson's strong arms curved around his body, and he let out a shuddering sigh as he finally allowed himself to relax, because this was his Jackson, right in front of him, Mark had no doubt about that._   
  


_"Fuck, you are awake," Jackson muttered, his hold tighten around Mark. "Thank you, thank you, thank you."_   
  


_Mark stayed there, not moving a inch, one of Jackson's hands smoothed its way down his back, moving back and forth in hypnotic strokes as he pressed a light, lingering kiss to Mark's forehead. "I knew you would wake up."_

 

_A lump lodged in Mark's throat at the conviction in Jackson's voice. He sounded more than grateful, as if he knew Mark would never let him down. Jackson made it sound that he was waiting for Mark, because he knew he would be by his side, eventually._   
  


_"Don't leave me again," Mark confessed quietly voice broken due to lack of use, lifting his chin and meeting Jackson's dark gaze._

 

_"If I ever did, I would regretted it." Jackson reached up, his fingertips hovering over Mark's cheek before he changed direction, trying to tuck a strand of Mark's small hair behind his ear instead._

 

_Mark wrinkled his nose, wishing he could argue. Because Jackson did leave so may times, he tore Mark to little pieces, took every ounce of happiness he ever experienced and turned it to something dark and terrifying._

 

_"Thank you," Jackson said softly, slipping his hand going up and down Mark's arm. "I should have been more aware of the danger, but I barely noticed it before it was too late. If you had not been there, I don't know how it might have ended."_

 

_._

_._

 

_Part of him was still out there, when he wakes up, sometimes he is confused and he does not know where he is or was. It made him feel sad and empty deep inside, but then Jackson would squeeze the air out of him, hugging him so tight that it would hurt. Mark did not mind one bit though, he liked it._

 

_Some months later, it dawned on him, the realization that it was over._

 

_He was no longer going back to the fears, the torture, the punishment, the pain. It was all behind him, left somewhere in a world that his brain created when he was in a coma. But, as he understood that, he also come to realize that those weren't the only things he left there. He left some part of his lover and best friend, his security and comfort, his peace of mind. Maybe in that wicked place there were more Jackson's that could use some of his help, friendship, love._

 

_Only, he was back now, Mark cannot forget Jackson in his arms after so long. He had no doubt that the person currently wrapped in his arms was his lover. Everything was fine. He hadn't been lost somewhere unknown in time and hadn't been sent to the wrong place by mistake._

 

_"You're back" Jackson whispered softly, his words tickling his neck with warm air._

.

.

 


End file.
